


Flying Lessons

by hashtagartistlife



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5469362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hashtagartistlife/pseuds/hashtagartistlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you saying you think my chances of catching you should you fall is 50%?! Not even 70%, Granger? Or 80%? Or the more accurate 99%? What are you taking my seeker reflexes for—“</p><p>“I’d put more stock in your seeker reflexes,” she said sweetly, not bothering to turn around, “if you’d ever won more than one match against Harry.” Draco's teaching Hermione to fly. It's not going well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Fic based off [icetoffee's](http://www.icetoffee.tumblr.com) [art](http://www.icetoffee.tumblr.com/post/124097846165/draco-helps-hermione-overcome-her-fear-of-flying) on tumblr.

“I’ll catch you. I promise.”

“No, you  _won’t_. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Draco.”

“Are you saying you don’t  _trust_  me, Granger? Even now? Even after  _all this?_ ”

The hurt in his voice was so exaggerated that Hermione couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “It’s not a matter of trust, Draco. Of course I trust you, but not even you are 100% all the time. What if you react too late? What if I just slip through your fingers? Hell, what if I’m too heavy for you and you fall right along with me?”

“What if the sky caves in tomorrow and the Dark Lord is resurrected?” he bantered back, the seriousness in his eyes not reflecting the levity of this words. “Come  _on_ , Granger. You can’t go into everything in life with a 100% guarantee. The 1% of danger is what makes it fun.”

“That would be true, if it were the case.” Hermione snapped her book closed and leaned in closer to Draco. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But I don’t bet my life on 50% chances.”

She got up from the table, leaving a spluttering Draco behind. “Are you saying you think my chances of catching you should you fall is 50%?! Not even 70%, Granger? Or 80%? Or the more accurate 99%? What are you taking my seeker reflexes for—“

“I’d put more stock in your seeker reflexes,” she said sweetly, not bothering to turn around, “if you’d ever won more than one match against Harry.”

She swung the classroom door shut against his cry of outrage.

* * *

When there was something he wanted, he was persistent as  _hell,_  and as usual when it came to him, she relented. Of course,  _usually_ , when she did relent, she found that whatever he was badgering her about proved to be equally enjoyable for her as it was for him.

Not so for this case.

“Dracooooooo!” she screamed as she held onto the sleek Silverwind (Draco’s latest broomstick – he went through broomsticks like she went through books) as it went zooming through the sky  _of its own accord_. What kind of shitty broomstick moved without input from the rider?! If this stupid collection of twigs had any inkling of what she wanted it would be zooming her down to the ground (in a safely controlled, slow descent, of course) right about  _now._  Instead, she was 10 metres from the ground and going into – oh no, was it going to  _roll her over_ —

Her fingers slipped from the polished handle of the Silverwind and Hermione locked her knees around it even as her torso swung into free space, desperate to keep a hold of the only thing keeping her aloft at this ridiculous height—

“I told you, Granger. What does that bring the tally up to now? Surely this is much better than a 50% success rate.”

“I… hate… you…” Hermione wheezed, crumpled into a weird U-shape with her top half nestled safely in Draco’s lap and her legs still in a death grip around the broomstick. He hadn’t even had the decency to stop reading his novel, she noticed, lounging — _lounging!_ How does one even lounge 10 metres from the ground on nothing but a thin stick of wood? — carelessly on a borrowed school broom, book in one hand. Asshole.

He spared her a small smirk. “Up and at ‘em, Granger. Or are you going to back down now? Surely your Gryffindor pride can’t allow that—“

“It’s Gryffindor  _pride_ , not Gryffindor  _suicidal idiocy,_ ” she interrupted fervently, “and it absolutely  _can_  allow me to get off this deathstick and get myself safely back down to the ground—“

“Well, there are debates about that — wait, what? No, Granger! You can’t stop now, you almost had it just then—“

“— _Watch_  me, pretty boy—“

“…. Can you even maneuver that thing back down to the ground without me helping?”

…well, shit. He had her there. Hermione snuck a glance at the ground so very far below them and gulped. The last time she had tried to put the Silverwind into a descent, she had pushed too far down on the broomstick and had ended up doing three cartwheels clinging to it before he stopped her.

Draco laughed. “All right, if you really hate it that much, we can give it one more go before I let you off for this session. Deal?”

Hermione perked right back up. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. I’m getting hungry, anyway.”

“Great!” she clambered back into her saddle ungracefully, but with an enthusiasm that had thus far been absent. “Just one more lap, or attempted lap, around the pitch, yeah?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, his attention already wandering back to his book. “Just remember to place your feet in the stirrups properly before you accelerate—“

A piercing scream wrenched him away from the novel, and Draco whipped his head back to Hermione. Time seemed to slow to a standstill; in a split second, he saw Hermione’s scrabbling hands miss the handle on her broomstick, saw her eyes widen with terror, and saw her begin an inexorable downward plunge that would doubtless be interrupted by solid ground. The book fell from his hands, unheeded, and then all of a sudden time was going by  _too fast_.

“Shit!  _Shit!_ ” he yelled as he forced the nose of his broom down into a reckless dive, praying he caught up with her on time. “ _Hermione!_ ”

His only reply was the whipping wind and a long, extended scream.

He wasn’t going to make it. Draco pulled out his wand and gave up on the broom, launching himself forward and shouting a wild spell that was half magic and half desperation. He caught one of her flailing arms and pulled her in, cradling her head against the inevitable impact—

Two metres from the ground, Draco cracked an eye open to find the two of them drifting down gently with the breeze. He unclenched his hand from around his wand and allowed himself to relax; the small movement caused Hermione to look up at him cautiously.

“Are… we still alive?”

“Yeah,” Draco replied; his voice was hoarse. “You’re still alive. Fuck, Granger, I’m so sorry.”

Hermione shifted in his embrace to glance at their surroundings. “Weightlessness charm?”

“Was the only thing I could think of. I wasn’t going to reach you in time.”

She exhaled, then shook her head. “That was the most reckless bloody thing I’ve seen in my life, and I live in the Gryffindor dorms.”

“Well, would you rather I have not caught you?” Draco said, irritated, and instantly regretted it. “No, I’m sorry. I would have caught you regardless. I should have been able to catch you without resorting to this. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“What a glowing recommendation for your coaching skills,” she said dryly, and Draco looked at the woman in his arms with no small amount of surprise.

“You’re taking your near-death experience quite well,” he noted as they alighted on the ground. He nullified his charm with a wave of his wand and shot her a questioning glance.

“I’m probably in shock. Rest assured, in a few hours when the reality of my brush with death sinks in, I will find you and slap the hell out of you for not paying enough attention to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said tritely. King of snark he may have been, but even he knew when it was time to dial down the wisecracking. Almost getting your girlfriend killed was one of them.

“Just do better next time,” was her reply, and Draco stopped in the middle of retrieving their broomsticks.

“I’m sorry? ‘Next time’? You actually want to do this again?”

“Sure, why not?” Hermione shrugged and picked up the abandoned Silverwind; Draco slung the school broom over his shoulder and the two of them started walking back to the castle.

“Because up until five minutes ago, you would have given your right eyeteeth to get out of flying. What changed?”

Hermione was silent a while, and then—

“I don’t bet my life on 80% chances,” she said, determinedly looking anywhere but in Draco’s direction, “or on 90%, or even on 99%.”

She met his eyes. “But I’d bet my life on  _you_.”

* * *

 

_".... trust a Gryffindor to need a near-death experience to warm up to an activity they previously despised."_

_"......................."_

_"OW! Ow, ow! Alright, I'm sorry, call off your damn bat-bogey hex, will you?"_


End file.
